


the Meditations of Father Altin

by Blownwish



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Come Swapping, Facial, Father Altin, Father Leroy, Hand Jobs, Jjbek, Kitten Kink, M/M, Otapliroy, Peeping, Pliroy, Sandwich, Semi Public Sex, agnostics in collars, finger banging, it ain’t deep it’s just porn, orgy in a church, otapliroy clergy porn, otayuri - Freeform, runaway Yuri, sex on a church altar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-30 01:45:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12643620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blownwish/pseuds/Blownwish
Summary: Father Altin loves the boy in his garden, and he wonders why Father Leroy is a priest.





	the Meditations of Father Altin

**Author's Note:**

> Live beta’d by [Annabeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/pseuds/annabeth). She and [Phayte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phayte/pseuds/Phayte) gave me so much encouragement through this thing. 
> 
> You guys are amazing ❤️

Father Altin thinks Father Leroy is too good looking to be a priest. Miss Yang says he has _bedroom eyes_ when she thinks she’s out of earshot in the parish office. No one is out of earshot in a workspace that looks like it was carved out of a giant block of marble. He’s also tall. He must be close to six feet. Father Altin indulges himself with a few jealous thoughts, he doesn’t mind being slightly below average height until he has to look up to speak to them, which is probably some residual adolescent preoccupation with being taken seriously. A few thoughts on Understanding later, Father Altin will end up focusing on his chiseled face, the kind of pretty boy face made for punching. Then he has to focus on Patience. The jerk will catch him staring and wink - yes, _Patience_ is what he needs. “Enjoying yourself, Father Altin?” Yes, Father Leroy knows what he looks like and he enjoys every minute of it. Miss Yang isn’t the only one. The entire parish of St Paul’s probably has some kind of _thing_ for him.

And Father Leroy gets off on it.

Father Altin realizes he’s angry, because happy people don’t generally feel the urge to dig out a person’s teeth with a spoon. “Never make soup, again.”

“But it was just Campbell’s.” He laughs because everything is funny. He has _levity_ , the archdiocese says. He’s also illiterate when it comes to reading directions.

“You used water instead of milk."

“It’s soup! You always add water.” Why was a Ken doll wearing a collar?

“Tomato soup, Jean.” He wishes there was bread. He’d make himself a sandwich with their imaginary lunch meat. “Might as well boil some noodles for spaghetti.”

“Hey, we don’t have milk, anyway.”

He looks out the storm window. Yuri is making a mockery of planting tulips along the side of a modest corrugated tin building christened, _the St Anne’s Storage Hall_ , aka _that shack where all the lawncare crap is crammed_. He’s planting more cigarettes butts than bulbs. Father Altin waits as he drops another in a hole shallow enough for an ant burial.

“He’s pretty, isn’t he?”

“Shut up, Jean.” He opens the window. “Yuri! If I see you drop one more cigarette on parish property I will personally march you up and down parish grounds until every spec of trash is picked up.”

The boy pushes himself up off the corrugated tin wall. He’s wearing cutoff jeans and a crop top; Father Altin spoke to him about that type of outfit. “You wouldn’t do that to me, Father Altin.” The boy knows it will give people the wrong messages, starting with Father Leroy, who’s already salivating at the bit.

“Go easy on the kid.” He’s winking again. He winks so much, Father Altin might introduce him to Dr Aguilera and mention her work in Tourettes. “What is he? Fifteen?”

“No, he is not!” Father Altin gets up. Straightens his jacket. “He is eighteen.”

Father Leroy’s laugh is the kind of low rumble that inspires a fist to the gut. “A little defensive, aren’t we?” He reaches. Father Altin should’ve moved, he doesn’t care to parse out why he didn’t, and Father Leroy has him by the nuts. Literally. “Hmm! You think your lawn boy's gonna mind if I apologize for lunch?” He tugs and gives him that terrible lazy smile. “I’ll scoot my chair so he won’t see a thing.”

What is he babbling about? “Why would you do that?”

“Jeez, Beks! So you can watch him while I’m blowing you. Blood already leave your brain, or what?” He picks up and parks the old wooden chair with a plop so he can get to business and unzip Father Altin’s fly.

Not again! And not _now!_ He should back away, but all he can do is helplessly watch Yuri light another cigarette as Father Leroy grips his half hard dick and swabs the head with his thumb. “Why are you a priest?”

“Why are _you_ a priest?” asks Father Leroy, right before he bends his head.

His mouth feels so warm. Yuri standing in the shade, pursing his pink lips around a Camel, as the wind plays with his hair, is so beautiful. Yuri, anywhere, is beautiful. Yuri standing next to a pile of compost, bending over in those tight pants, is beautiful. Yuri, on his knees, weeding the African violets in front of the chapel, is beautiful. Yuri, on his knees, behind the shed, in front of Father Altin, is very, very beautiful. So beautiful, so wild and beautiful when he looks up at Father Altin with those big green eyes and -

He grips the back of the chair. Then he grips the back of Father Leroy’s head. He can’t make a sound as Yuri turns and as he bends down and oh, he is so ripe, his ass looks so good, those shorts are so tight and they are going where Father Altin wants to be and -

“Hmmm…”

He closes his eyes and he focuses on his breath as Father Leroy pulls away. As Wisdom - where is it? - is paged and Father Altin waits, impatiently for it to answer. He needs to do something, urgently. He will remember soon. What is it?

“Hey.” There’s a tap at the window. And a face, the face that could easily launch more than a thousand ships, fills up the window sill. “You’re actually good for something, after all, Father Leroy.” Oh, no. “Got my second smoke.” He’s laughing.

No, oh no.

“Happy to be of service, _mon cher_.” Was that a wink?

No, no, no.

“Jean,” Father Altin needs Compassion. He needs Virtue, whatever that is. He needs - “ _Mon cher?_ ”

“You are the only person I know, who gets more uptight after orgasm.” He stands up. He plants his hands squarely on Father Altin’s shoulders. And Yuri snickers from behind the window screen as Father Leroy kisses him on both cheeks, then on the lips. Like a damn child. “He’s eighteen, right? So why can’t we all be friends, Beks?”

He suddenly hears the sacramental wine calling his name.

Yuri snorts. ”Eighteen. _Right_.”

“I need to go to the Sacristy. So do you, Yuri.”

_”Right.”_

++

Why does the priesthood even exist?

Half the people who ask for his help are better served by social workers and psychiatrists. The other half want him to confirm their personal religious fantasies, which usually involve magical thinking with a heavy helping of narcissism and schadenfreude. He stopped believing in God two years ago, when a one day old baby died in his arms from heart failure after his addict mother escaped the hospital three hours earlier. It wasn’t because he mourned the loss of life. It was because the child was allowed to suffer in existence at all. Maybe there is a God, but Father Altin doesn’t believe God does much of anything.

Why does he worship Him? Why does he put on this collar and why does he live in a cramped little hovel and why does he take orders from a fat, old bishop who made eight illegitimate children over thirty years of ‘celibacy?’ All because he finds something rewarding in ritual, service — and one sweet little kitty cat. He would worship space aliens, if it meant he could stay here and love his sweet Yuri.

A kitty who’s taking too long. Father Altin bursts out of the rectory back door, beelines through Bermuda grass that begs for a cut and -

They aren’t even being discreet.

Father Leroy has Yuri backed up against the Chapel limestone, behind the hedges, and he is shoving his tongue down _his kitten’s_ throat. Father Altin tries to remember the Beatitudes, the lyrics to Hey, Jude - _anything -_ to reign in the almighty rage that’s balling up his fist.

And then Father Leroy lets up, and sunlight glimmers on the slick of Yuri’s lower lip. Father Leroy pushes his hand underneath the back of Yuri’s pants, and his dirty kitten arches into Father Leroy’s hand, like a Persian eager to be stroked. “Let me go?” Yuri practically mewls. “Promise I’ll see you, later.”

“See me now, and later.” Father Leroy bends his head and he’s biting, sucking, _marking_ Yuri’s neck. “You can’t get enough of me.” Now the sun is shimmering in the line of spit Father Leroy leaves as his tongue slides up Yuri’s throat. “Taste so good, baby boy.”

Yuri groans. “Ugh! Why are you so obnoxious?”

Father Altin is going to stop them. He needs to; anyone who pulls into the parking lot will walk past the hedges. They will see a priest with a boy who looks like he should be in school, leaning back against a church as a priest unzips his fly and peels his barely-there shorts down. He wants to; Yuri is his, not Jean’s. Jean has Miss Yang and he has that South Korean foreign exchange student the Finnigans are hosting and he wants more, more, more. He wants Father Altin, and now he wants Yuri? _Why is he even a priest?_

But for now he’s just hiding behind the dumpster, letting himself get hard all over again as Father Leroy rubs between Yuri’s legs and makes those stupid growling noises. (Who told him that was erotic? They lied.) “Oh, look at you. My baby boy, you love it, don’t you?”

“Shut up, oh my god!”

“Shhh! Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.” He’s pumping Father Altin’s kitten. He’s pumping him and he going to make him come — and Father Leroy licks Yuri’s hand and he puts Yuri’s hand down his pants and Father Leroy grunts and they _both_ catch the sunlight as Father Leroy catches Yuri’s mouth to his.

He palms his dick through his pants. He’s so hard. So hard and so angry. He can’t think on one Virtue because he’s watching what could be Lust, personified, eat his kitten alive. “So good, baby boy. So, so good for me.”

“Father Leroy!” Yuri mouths the collar. “Say something about God or something.”

“Do you need Absolution, baby? Baby boy been bad?” His hand goes faster. He presses his nose in Yuri’s hair, closes his eyes and inhales so deeply. Then, when he opens them, when Yuri arches his back one more time, when Yuri gives Father Leroy all the come Father Altin wanted for himself, Father Leroy is smiling.

Smiling right at Father Altin.

Then he closes his eyes and comes all over Yuri’s shirt.

“You jerk!”

Father Altin goes back to the rectory. He’s got to check the altar wine, with his mouth.

God is either impotent, uncaring or doesn’t exist at all. Either way, Father Altin isn’t going to bother parsing which it is, or why his kitten wants Father Leroy. He will never be able to answer the first and he already knows the answer to the second.

They have a nice Cabernet, this week.

++

Father Altin had Yuri at their first meeting. He came to St Paul’s, like some magical creature, who rode in on a sunbeam, so light and golden, in filthy jeans and a black mesh shirt. He was asking for food. “I’m hungry. It’s a church, right? Feed the poor.”

Father Altin couldn’t argue with logic. He couldn’t say much of anything without sounding like a complete idiot. He had seen beautiful women before, but he never understood the phrase, _beautiful boy_ , before that moment, and the knowledge hit him like a lightning bolt. A lightning bolt right to his dick. He pulled at his tight collar and led the way.

The pantry was down the walkway, in the old kitchen they used to serve lunch at, back when there was a school at St Paul’s. Those days are long gone, before Father Altin’s time, but Mrs Garza and the girls still serve hot meals every evening for the needy, and every feast day to the public (for a much-appreciated donation). She wasn’t due in for an hour and the pantry volunteer depended on the kindness of parish staff to fill in whenever she was “busy.” Cheryl was always busy.

Father Altin felt the boy’s eyes on his back as he ruined some eggs on the gas stove. He couldn’t cook to save his life and this boy couldn’t keep his ass off the prep table Mrs Garza ruthlessly sanitized. “You really a priest?”

“I’m really a priest.”

More egg was stuck on the metal pan then came out of it. He popped it on a tray and turned and -

The kid was right behind him. “You don’t look like a priest.”

He’d heard it before. _Such a shame, you’re so good looking. You’d make beautiful children._ But he didn’t want a baby who would grow up to hate him. He didn’t want a woman who would grow old and turn into his mother, harassing him out of the house with lists of demands and a life story, starring him as the cause of all her problems. He wanted something beautiful, heartbreakingly, eternally beautiful, like Christ on the Cross. But that wasn’t real. Jesus never spoke to anyone, Jesus never walked with anyone, Jesus never looked back at Father Altin with all the promise of a dewey rose budding in early Spring.

He took a deep breath and focused on Chastity. “Yeah, I’m mistaken for a mechanic all the time. People pull up to the church and ask me for an oil change. It’s a real problem.”

He laughed. “You like me?” His voice was a whisper. So was his hand. The boy touched the crucifix hanging around his neck, like an albatross. “I like you.”

He had been focusing on Chastity ever since that _distracting_ French Canadian Dominican priest was assigned to St Paul’s. It was his fault. He brought something with him, some strange tension he put in the air, with his winks when Father Altin kept the bathroom door open for him after a shower, with his deep, low laugh bouncing off the parish office’s marble floor as he perched himself on Miss Yang’s desk, while Father Leroy watched him, like a little boy who's about to poke the neighbor’s chained pit bull with a short stick. Then there was that foggy night, two weeks prior, when he pulled into the rectory driveway and saw Father Leroy standing in front of the walkway steps. The light behind him made him a shadow, but Father Altin knew it was him. And he didn’t say a word when he got out of the Crown Victoria. Father Altin didn’t say a word when Father Leroy stood, waiting for him to move. Neither said a word when Father Leroy turned and led the way inside. The curtains were drawn and the lights were off.

“Did you ever notice how people want to have sex during a funeral?” Father Leroy was the one who finally spoke. Father Altin wondered what time it was, when Father Leroy’s hand found his shoulder. Mrs Lopez had Last Rites at St Anthony’s at 12:27am.

He looked at this boy; he was filthy, scrawny, and one meal away from prostituting. He was beautiful, and that would end in about six months. He would be a junkie and with any luck, he’d see the boy at the psych ward and none of the glorious glare would be left in those green eyes. “Do you turn tricks?”

“I repay favors.” The finger on Father Altin’s crucifix goes up and it goes down. “Think of it as a friendly thank you.”

He didn’t have to pull Father Altin’s head down. He didn’t have to rub himself against Father Altin like a kitten. He probably would have. He definitely could have, because the sun was shining, and it was burning and it was bright and it was clear, when Father Altin reached for this boy.

++

He sees one pair of black shoes. He doesn’t feel like looking up. When he looks up, he is going to see the face that launched a thousand meditations on the Seven Virtues.

“How’s the Cab?”

Father Altin snorts. “Jean, you’re a pain in the ass. But,” he smiles, “kudos on the wine. Mondavi beats the hell out of Ripple.”

“How many bottles, Beks?” He’s sighing, which is perfect. Let Father Leroy be the irritated one for a change. “Oh.” Oh is right. “Just one?” So is that. “Restraint. That’s so admirable. It’s almost like Temperance. Get it? Temperance, alcohol.” No, please don’t sit next to him. He doesn’t want you to. He wants someone wild and blond and creamy. Not wild and tall and too good looking. Father Altin can’t look at him right now because Father Leroy is already _too much_. “You do that Seven Virtues sermon all the time. Thought you’d like the reference.”

“You are fucking my kitten.”

He nudges Father Altin’s shoulder. “You know you’re terrible at hiding.”

“Oh.” He was seen. “So are you.”

Father Leroy bops his nose. “Maybe I wanted you to see.”

Patience. He needs it. Father Altin closes his eyes. “And why?”

“Maybe I want you to do more than watch us, next time.” His voice sounds soft, not smug. “We’re already involved with each other.”

He snorts. “Since when do you ever ask permission?”

“When I’m planning something out. Come on, help me figure this out. We have him come over at night and we get some more of this.” He holds up the bottle. “Don’t worry, I had Izzy order plenty.”

Last week Yuri was pouting under the roof of the shack, while Father Leroy changed the oil in that old green John Deere, and changed out the bad spark plugs. “Lawn clippings give me allergies.”

“Put your shirt over your nose.” Father Altin almost laughed when Yuri groaned. “Lots of people have some kind of reaction. You won’t die.”

“Make me.”

Father Altin didn’t focus on any meditations on the Virtues. He forgot about Chastity, like he forgot about the red rag he dropped in the overgrown grass as he went into the shed. He was only focused on the boy sliding off the bench and to his knees.

Father Altin can make him do lots of things.

Father Leroy traces a line up and down Father Altin’s open palm. “So, yeah?”

“Why are you a priest?” He has to hear it.

And he’s never going to know why. He’s just going to get that disgusting smile. “That’s one big tell, Beks. You are spending an awful lot of time thinking about me.”

“You said that to Miss Yang, yesterday.”

“I said it to Yuri, too. I’m not lying when I say the sun is up. I’m just making an observation.”

++

Father Leroy shouldn’t be allowed to play guitar. He probably ruined virgins with one in high school. Probably broke up a couple of their parents’ marriages, too. It’s the way his eyelids get heavy and the way he keeps his mouth open, just a little, and the way he stares off into a place no one can see while the pews are filled with squirming parishioners who keep crossing their legs instead of their hearts during Sunday Mass.

He shouldn’t be playing guitar, now. The notes drip in the air and make time stretch as Father Altin pretends he isn’t pacing.

“God isn’t something we can’t touch.” Father Leroy isn’t singing. He’s still staring and playing as he’s speaking. “God is as close as your next breath. We feel God. He lights up our senses.”

This is as close as an explanation Father Altin has ever heard and it’s terrible. “That’s a bad pick up line, Jean.”

“Bad pick up lines, theology, they all sound the same, don’t they?” Father Leroy smiles at the thing only he sees. “All we do with ourselves, you and me, we’re here to seduce people.”

There is a knock that echos over the marble and across the arches and through a church built according to ancient schematics replicated across centuries and continents. Father Leroy stops playing guitar and Father Altin walks down the aisle with nothing but votive candles lit in memory of the dead.

He is at the western oak door. He is wet from the rain. He is light, and cold to the touch as Father Altin picks him up, like the lamb he picked up during the Blessing if the Animals, and he takes hm down the aisle. Father Leroy stands, clasping his hands. He follows Father Altin as he takes Yuri to the altar and lays him out in Easter White cloth.

_Aren’t you sick of how empty the Sacraments feel?_

They peel off his wet clothes. They plop like the drops in Yuri’s hair and Yuri shimmers in the candlelight as he tilts his head back and he tastes like fresh rain when Father Altin bows his head and presses his open mouth on his shoulder. Father Leroy is kissing Yuri’s lips. Then Father Altin’s lips. Then Father Altin kisses Yuri.

Yuri’s trembling as they arrange him, as they test his nipples with their mouths, watching each other nip and suck as they both pull his knees up. As Father Altin reaches down and Father Leroy pulls away. “Fuck me in front of Jesus,” Yuri whispers as Father Leroy uncaps his glass vial of Holy Oil.

“He's right up there, on that Crucifix.” Father Altin notices how Jesus is smiling, as if he would have enjoyed paying for this. “He has a good view.” Father Altin grips Yuri’s half hard cock and tugs.

Father Leroy climbs on the altar, crawls between Yuri’s legs and pushes them out until his feet dangle off either side of the altar and he smiles up at Father Altin. “You don’t believe.” Then he bites Yuri’s ass. Chuckles as Yuri yelps, and it is a deep, dark rumble. “You _should_ believe.” And then he pushes his face between Yuri’s ass cheeks and -

His kitten - Father Leroy - they moan and they move in the candlelight and Father Leroy’s hands smack Yuri’s hips and Yuri sobs and he stares up at Father Altin and he whispers - _more_.

Jesus isn’t really there. Not when Father Altin sucks that beautiful pink cock into his mouth. Jesus isn’t really there. Not when he and Father Leroy devour him. Jesus isn’t there when Father Altin tastes the precum as he swirls his tongue against the head of Yuri’s dick. He’s never really there.

But they’re here.

Father Leroy is there when he sits up and pushes his fingers into Yuri. Yuri is there as he arches and curses and scoots back as those fingers fuck into him. So far back his head is hanging off the edge of the altar and his throat is exposed and his chest is heaving and the _slap slap slap_ of Father Leroy’s knuckles against his skin echoes between the marble floor and arches.

“Almost ready, baby boy?” Father Leroy undoes his belt buckle.

“No, Jean.”

Father Leroy pulls out his dick, spits in his hand before he smiles at Father Leroy. “He wants it.” He shoves his fingers in faster, harder, and Yuri snarls and he sits up and Father Altin pushes Father Leroy out of the way and he’s on the altar and he’s pulling down his pants and he’s moaning as he’s pushing inside - inside - oh, fuck -

Father Altin arches his back as Yuri sobs and he closes his eyes as Jesus stares from the Cross and he opens his mouth when Father Leroy grabs his hair and shoved his tongue into his mouth.

“This is what I mean by God, Beks.”

God is Yuri sprawled out like a sacrifice at the altar. God is Father Leroy shoving his cock down Yuri’s throat as his head hangs off the edge. God is Father Altin slamming himself into this sweet, tight ass, over and over. God is Yuri coming when they both reach down and cup, and stroke, and milk it out of him. This is what Father Leroy means by God.

They pull Yuri off the altar. He kneels as they stand in their collars, pants around their knees. He sucks them both, sometimes trying to cram both their cocks in his mouth at once. Sometimes one will push Yuri’s head down until his nose is pressed against the other’s pubic hair and he’s choking on the other one’s cock. “Make me look dirty in front of Jesus.”

Father Altin puts his hand on the crown of Yuri’s head and Father Leroy’s mouth is pressing against Father Altin’s ear as Father Altin takes one last deep breath: _This is God_ , Father Leroy whispers as Father Altin comes all over the most beautiful face he’s ever seen.

Yuri sucks Father Leroy as Father Altin watches in a daze. Yuri looks up at Father Altin, with those big green eyes as Father Altin’s come drips down his face, a face Father Leroy thrusts into one last time, a face he jerks off on as he mutters, “Your best for Jesus, baby boy.”

Yuri is wiping the come off his face. “Stop.” Father Altin takes Yuri’s hand and pushes it to Yuri’s mouth. He wants to see him act like a kitty cat. “Lick it off.”

When Father Leroy falls to his knees, when he takes Yuri’s hand and licks it clean, then tips Yuri’s face up and starts licking Father Altin’s kitty clean? When he thumbs Yuri’s mouth open and feeds him all that come in a long, glistening string?

When he sees this, Father Altin isn’t jealous or angry. He doesn’t wonder why Father Leroy is a priest or whether Yuri Plisetsky is actually fifteen or wonder how many bottles of cabernet it will take to justify all the decisions that propelled him into this moment. When he sees them, he wants them, and it’s not a meditation to focus on or a Virtue he can cling to like his collar. It’s a feeling. It’s immediate and it’s real and it’s perfect.

He grabs Father Leroy by the hair and takes what’s left of their come as he shoves his tongue in his mouth, as Father Leroy and Yuri drag him down on his knees. As Yuri whines and bites at their ears and tries to nose into their kiss. Father Altin reaches between Yuri’s legs and Father Leroy’s hand is already there.

“You need more, baby boy?”

“Yes, Father.” Yuri whines as they pick him up and bend him over the altar, facing the Crucifix. Curses and begs as they take turns shoving their fingers up his ass and jerking him off.

Father Leroy keeps kissing Father Altin. Keeps leaning over and touching his tongue to his. Keeps stopping to tug at Father Altin’s cock. And Father Altin isn’t mad when Father Leroy is hard and Father Leroy props Yuri’s ass up and pushes his cock between those tight, narrow cheeks until the head of his dick pops out over Yuri’s tailbone.

Father Altin wants them to fuck. He wants something living and breathing and feeling in this place. He gets behind Father Leroy. He finds the Holy Oil in his pocket and he reaches down and he’s pushing his finger into him, he’s whispering as Father Leroy devolves into Québécois growls and Yuri whines, _Where are you, Father Altin?_ Father Altin whispers, “You want this.”

Father Leroy reaches back and somehow finds the cross hanging around Father Altin’s neck. Tugs it. “Yeah.”

Father Altin sinks into him. And when he thrusts? They both moan for him. When he pulls out? Father Leroy whimpers with Yuri. It’s beautiful and sick and Father Altin never wants it to stop.

++

He wakes up every morning at five. He runs with Jean, who always races, and never merely jogs. Father Leroy doesn’t make his appearance until they’ve showered and found their collars. Father Altin shows up somewhere in the middle of a cup of Folgers Instant. He catches Father Leroy’s smile as the John Deere engine turns.

It’s not even seven in the morning.

Father Altin yanks the dusty curtain back, and an old man riding their lawn mower waves as the sun peaks behind a low hanging cloud on the horizon.

“Yuri never came this early,” says Father Altin. Father Leroy keeps smiling the smile he’s worn since Yuri got a ‘real’ job, working at McDonald’s. Sometimes he still comes around at night, not nearly enough.

“He’s grown two inches since he turned sixteen.” Father Leroy shrugs when Father Altin stops at the door. “He might turn out to be taller than you, Beks.”

Father Altin turns the knob. “Don’t, Jean.”

But Father Leroy is behind him, pulling Father Altin’s back against his chest, and before Father Altin can focus on the Virtue of Patience, Father Leroy buries his face in Father Altin’s neck. “He will always come back, Beks.”

He’s not the most believable person. “Why are you even a priest?”


End file.
